


Twenty - Nine

by notjustmom



Series: The Boys in Sussex [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, M/M, Retirement, Sussex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	1. Chapter 1

"Mycroft. I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

"John? Is Sherlock -"

"No, no. He's fine, truly, he's at his monthly beekeeper's meeting. Listen, I'm calling about Christmas."

"Yes?"

"For Sherlock. I know this is not something you - hell, I'm just going to say it - here it is. He gave me Thomas' watch."

"Thomas."

"And we visited Scott and Hamish's resting place. I have to say it was a beautiful spot you picked. Gertrude knew just where to find them."

"John -" Mycroft's voice became softer than John had ever heard it. "I - how much do you know?"

"I know about Grace and Em, and that Hamish and Mary had visited here once, Z remembers..."

"Cat's out of the bag, then." Mycroft sighed.

"Not everyone knows -"

"Just a matter of time, isn't it?"

"No, Mycroft. Listen. I want to give him something. Sherlock. Do you have the letter - Hamish's letter? You had kept Thomas' watch for him, I just wondered..."

"Yes, John. The day Sher - Scott died - he died with the letter - he was - damn. I didn't expect to ever talk about this, John. He told you -"

"I began having dreams of our other selves, if that makes sense, it started after I woke up in hospital, but they became stronger here, on the farm. I wrote the dreams out as stories, and when he read them -"

"They were what he remembered, word for word."

"Yes."

"Yes. John. I - of course you may give him the letter, in fact, it would be better, I suppose, if I turned over everything to you -"

"Everything? You mean there's more?" 

Mycroft got up from his chair and moved on wobbly legs across the room and closed, then locked his door. and leaned against it. "There is so much more, even more than Sherlock knows, he only remembers back to Will and Thomas..."

"Mycroft?"

"I have - it has been my - I have been Sherlock's brother - for centuries."

"Oh, Mycroft - I am truly sorry." John froze. "Damn, I didn't mean it like that, but you -"

Mycroft laughed. "Yes, I know exactly what you meant, apology accepted. I - before Christmas, I think I need to come and tell you both everything - together, and if you wish, I will hand everything over to your safe-keeping. I - you honestly don't know how long I have waited for your call, John. But, there is so much, I'm not sure you want to know everything -"

"I do, we do, it's - we need to know, Mycroft, he needs to know."

"Yes, John. I think it's finally time. I need time to collect everything, would it be alright if Alicia and I came to visit in a couple of weeks? It will take a week, if I do this properly."

"Time, we have plenty of, Mycroft. Thank you - for - "

"No, John, thank you, for loving my brother as you do. I had hoped that this time - he would, that you would be the one who finally understood."

"Mycroft."

"John." Mycroft turned off his phone and closed his eyes, then turned his phone on again and texted Anthea.

 

I need to be out of the office the rest of the day. I will also be taking a week off in two weeks - MH

Understood, Sir. Shall I let Lady Smallwood know? - A

Yes. No. I will speak to her personally, thank you. - MH

Sir. - A

 

"Alicia."

"Myc?"

"Can you meet me for lunch at home today?"

"Of course. Myc?"

"Just need to talk about the wedding."

"Of course. Noon suit you?"

"Perfect, thank you,"

"Of course, Myc. I -"

"Yes, I, too." Mycroft ended the call and turned off his phone, then picked up his coat and briefcase and walked out of his office, locking it behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mycroft?"

Alicia walked into their bedroom and turned on a light. "Myc? There you are." She looked at the silent figure sitting as still, as frozen as the proverbial statue. "Mycroft."

"I have something to tell you, and I've never had to do this before, so if you can be patient with me -" He blinked at her as she knelt in front of him and laid her hands gently on his knees. "I'm not sure, if you will - just know that I love you."

"I'm listening."

"It's not what you think."

"Try me." She got up and moved to sit next to him on the bed.

"Sherlock and I, he and John - this is not - hell." Mycroft blew out a breath and began again, trying avoid her eyes, but finally resigned himself to her impenetrable gaze. "You know how most people are born, they grow up, get married maybe, have a job, children, possibly some grandchildren, live a life and then die."

"Yes, sounds like an average lifespan -" she agreed.

"Well, Sherlock, John and I - I have been Sherlock's brother since the 1300s. Sherlock and John - they have been - 'together' in some form since roughly the same time period, according to the records I am in possession of -"

Alicia sat quietly; hadn't moved a muscle as far as Mycroft could tell.

"Damn. This is one reason I never, I was always so careful to avoid entanglements... sentiment." He pressed his fingers to his temples, got to his feet and paced for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, then closed his eyes and in a quiet, unsteady voice very much unlike his normal authoritative tone began. "William Holmes and Thomas Watson met the day Victoria and Albert married. William was three and a half, Thomas was 9. William was a distant cousin to Victoria, Thomas, the only son of the head of stables, and despite the difference in age and stations in society, they were virtually inseparable until Thomas Watson's untimely death in the Crimean War. They met again in 1918, on a park bench, but as Scott Holmes and Dr. Hamish Moses - Dr. Moses had survived the fierce fighting in Samarra, and returned to London, unable to take up his promising career as a surgeon, due to permanent nerve damage in his shoulder from a wound suffered while tending to casualties; they shared rooms for many years, Scott was a scientist, tinkerer and problem solver, Dr. Moses was essentially his memoirist, his work is still seen as essential reading for historians of that time period - he met his wife-to-be, Mary Morrison, when she enlisted Scott's help to unravel her father's disappearance... Hamish died in his sleep in 1949, Scott followed shortly thereafter - they met once again in 2010, at St. Bart's, as Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson..."

"You said they have known one another since the 1300s." Alicia reminded him quietly, her eyes never leaving Mycroft.

"Their earliest shared memories are of Thomas and William. I know, that is, I have records, evidence of lifetimes going back to well before the reign of Richard the second. This incarnation is the first time they have both lived long enough, and existed in a society where their relationship could be seen as legitimate. That is, they have been able to live as lovers and husbands, for the first time, in over six hundred years."

Alicia nodded. "And this affects us, how, precisely?"

"I have always served as Sherlock's protector. Essentially, I have been cleaning up his messes, trying to keep him alive until he could meet John, since recorded history began. Alright, perhaps I exaggerate somewhat, it certainly feels as if I have. John has recently been made aware of their unique status, I suppose you could call it. It is the first time that he has understood the true nature of their relationship, and has made me aware of that fact earlier today. He phoned asking after an artifact which only he, Sherlock and I know about, and I have made the decision to turn over all records to John and Sherlock; it will take some to make them aware of their history, as I know it. I am still uncertain of the wisdom of sharing all that I know; however, I am ready to relinquish the responsibility, however unwise that course of action may be."

"I still -" Alicia began, then stood and blocked his path. "Why would you think that this would change how I feel towards you?"

"As they have existed through the centuries, I have as well, my head is full of memories, incarnations - I have been present at nearly every coronation, since, - I can't even tell you the first one at the moment. I have always served at the pleasure of whatever monarch was in power much as I do now, and I have always done so, alone."

"Why?"

He met her eyes and shook his head. "Why?" He asked with a slight chuckle. "I have watched my brother and his, for a lack of a better term, 'soulmate' meet, fall in love and be crushed by that love for over six centuries, and usually can do nothing to prevent the pain they suffer. This time -"

"Myc?"

"After Sherlock was shot, by John's wife, Mary - he wished to recover at Baker Street. I could have had any number of top doctors or nurses watch over him, but I knew - I was certain that he would not recover unless John was his caretaker. In another lifetime, I would have not overstepped as I did this time. John had made choices that rankled of course, but they were understandable, Sherlock had left, leaving John to believe he had died, then returned expecting their relationship to continue as it had done before, when it did not, he was willing to support whatever John believed would make him happy. And at one time, he thought being married to Mary Morstan was what would make him happy, so Sherlock did everything in his power to make that happen, no matter the cost to himself. Her true nature was only revealed after the marriage, though if Sherlock had been himself, he would have realised it much sooner..."

Alicia nodded and cleared her throat. 

"Apologies. I went to John and stopped him from leaving London, leaving my brother's life. I had never taken such steps before, but I knew, I believed that John only needed time to understand, time to forgive Sherlock and they would finally -"

"I understand, love." 

Mycroft searched her face, and sighed as he took her into his arms and murmured into her hair. "You do. I have never allowed myself to even consider the wishes of my heart, I watched time and time again as love destroyed my brother - I had no desire to suffer the same fate. And yet -" He pulled away and brushed a stray curl from her face. "When I met you, I -"

"Shhh. Let me take care of you, Myc. I have cleared my schedule for as long as you need me - I want to hear all of it, as much or as little as you wish to share with me. But right now, I am going to get you out of this suit, and we are going to spend what's left of the afternoon in bed, and then we are going to order way too much Indian take-away, watch some crap telly, and then tomorrow, we will begin. Yes?"

Mycroft nodded and his voice cracked as he attempted to speak. "Now I know - why he - why they -"

Alicia laid a long finger on his lips and shook her head, then pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and undid his tie. "Tomorrow, love."


	3. Chapter 3

"Favourite monarch?" Alicia murmured into Mycroft's hip bone.

"Hmmmm.... Henry...mmm...the Fifth. He was ridiculous as a prince, totally worthless, though a kind soul if you got to know him. Of course... godddddalllli...hmmmthere...this debriefing could take decades if this counts as your interrogation technique."

Alicia threw the duvet off and sat up. "How old were you?"

"I was a couple years younger than Hal - we grew up together, our father was one of Henry the fourth's closest advisors - England was a mess, I was twelve when Richard died, then Bolingbroke became king, I don't think he was ever comfortable with wearing the crown - he just wanted his lands back - he was disappointed with Hal, he asked me to intervene - he saw me as..."

"The son he wished Hal to be?" Alicia smiled at him.

"Well, I wasn't much different than I am now - Hal was a carouser, loved women and his wine. I was rather studious, and patient, and I was interested in the workings of - yes, boring. I was boring, even then."

Alicia snorted and ruffled his hair. "You weren't boring - I'm sure you were just conscientious."

Mycroft shook his head. "I was, as Sherlock would say, 'balls-achingly tedious.' But I was quiet and present, while his son was absent, as he usually was, and I did understand, as much as Bolingbroke did not want to be king, Hal was impatient for something to do, but studying policy and history, and economic theory was not what interested him. He was a man who believed in action, he wanted to prove himself in battle, not sit at his father's side. But then his father's health began to fail, and eventually Hal realised - nearly too late - how little he understood the pressures of being king. I don't reflect often, but now that I look back on it - when his father died and he took on the responsibilities - he had a natural instinct for leadership, and he had some sort of, I don't know, perhaps you could call it a 'religious conversion' of some sort, when he knew his life had to change." Mycroft shrugged and reached for Alicia, pulling her close against him. "I haven't - I just haven't thought about - I am better at compartmentalization than my brother, my past lives rarely bleed into this one, but I do have moments when I miss the uncertainty, the drama, I adore Elizabeth, but, there is something to be said for living in a time when it mattered what side you were on." He pulled back and looked into her bright eyes for a moment. "How -?"

"What, Myc?"

"How do you believe what I am telling you, if someone had told me the stories I am sharing with you - I would have told them to get their heads examined, and yet you -"

"Because you've never lied to me."

"It's truly that simple?" 

"It's that simple. Now, tell me, how did the boys meet in Henry's time?"

"Sherlock traveled with Henry as his 'historian', basically, he served as his manservant, but Henry understood early on that he was quite observant and literate, and as he was my brother he was trusted to be his scribe, when he went to France, much against my wishes. By then, our parents had died, he was twenty and headstrong, was 'borrrrrred' and didn't want to stay behind, so I finally let him go, I figured he'd be safe there as any other place. John was one of Henry's most relied upon soldiers, he was a confidant, the men under him trusted him completely. Sherlock worshipped Henry, but when he met John on the way to France - he lost his heart. Luckily, they both managed to survive the French campaign; after peace was finally made, John was given land and titles in France on the condition he married... he didn't have a choice - Sherlock became a monk, never spoke another word after John returned to France... there are records of their deaths. They both lived until old age, very much alone, John never had children..."

"Are you sure they need to know, Mycroft?"

"No, of course I'm not sure, but, these lives were real, Alicia, very much part of who they are now, they should be given the opportunity to know where they came from. Who they once were, what they went through to become -" Mycroft started to get up out of bed, when Alicia stopped him with her quiet words.

"Shhh, I'm sorry - I see - no, truly, I do. You see yourself in them, in their stories, you don't want them to be lost, and you are afraid, because you don't know what will happen now. Now that they know..."

"I've been in control for so long, Alicia, and I used to believe I knew what would happen next, I could tell - because of certain markers, the weather, a turn in the economy, I saw things no one else could - I'm not so sure any longer, but I know, what I do know, is that I don't have to face whatever is coming next on my own, at least not in this life." He turned and saw her watching him closely, in that way that he wondered if she could see directly into his soul. "How do you do that?" His voice trembled as she gathered him into her arms.

"Do what, Myc?"

"Understand me in ways I don't understand myself."

"I love you. That's how."


	4. Chapter 4

6 October -

John -

I have enclosed a copy of the letter you requested, I will bring the original with me in a couple of weeks, if you are sure you and Sherlock wish to know all that I know, once we begin, it may be difficult to stop. History is a funny thing, talk it over with Sherlock and let me know what decision you have made.

 

Mycroft sighed and laid down his pen. Alicia was still sound asleep - they had talked for hours, mostly he had talked and she had held him through it all, and as difficult as it was, he realised John was correct, they needed to know their pasts in order to go forward. He held the copy of Hamish's letter in his hand, and even though it wasn't the original paper, the words nearly broke him as they had back in 1949.

 

"Scott? Why haven't you opened the shop? Are you sleeping in aga -" He had pushed open the door to Scott's small flat above the shop, and stopped short. Scott seemed to be fast asleep in his chair by the fireplace, but he had seen death too many times not to know when he saw it now. "No. Brother, mine. Please?" He knelt next to the chair and noticed the letter dangling from Scott's fingers. He searched for evidence of foul play, his brother had made his share of enemies in his time, but there were no physical signs of violence, no obvious needle marks or bottles - it seemed his brother had simply, as ridiculous as it sounded to Lucian's most logical mind, died of a broken heart - again.

 

"Myc?" Alicia mumbled.

"I'm here - just wanted to get this sent off today, before I begin working on collecting all of the, hmm, artifacts for them, I need to know if they are ready."

"It's early still, come back to bed, love."

Mycroft slid the letter and his note in the envelope, sealed it, addressed it and carefully placed the stamp on it, before walking back across the room and sliding into bed and into Alicia's arms.

 

John's fingers trembled as he pulled out the letter. Even though he knew the words already, and that it was merely a copy of the original, he was still shaken by seeing the words, written in his own hand, and yet not his hand. Over the last few days he had become convinced Sherlock needed to know, he was having nightmares again, he was seeing and hearing things he didn't understand and couldn't speak of to John. But reading and rereading the letter nearly shook his resolve.

"John?" Sherlock entered the kitchen with Gertrude at his heels; he smelt of autumn, of the firewood he had been chopping, the apples that were past their prime - "John, what is it?"

"I need you to sit down, love."

Sherlock nodded and slowly pulled out his chair, then seated himself carefully, as if to prepare for whatever news John had for him.

"I have started wheels in motion - it was meant to be a surprise for you at Christmas, but I didn't know -"

"John?"

John handed him the letter and sighed. "I called Mycroft and asked him if he had Hamish's letter. You had told me that he had kept Thomas' watch for you until he believed you were ready for it, I came to the conclusion that he may also have the letter that Hamish had left for Scott, and - he did. This, is, of course just a very good copy of - "

"His hand was very much like yours, I had forgotten." Sherlock ran his fingers over the words and looked up at John. "So, Mycroft knows that you know about -"

John nodded. "He also told me -" He stopped and cleared his throat, and nearly laughed as he realised how much he wanted a mug of tea in his hands at that moment. "He told me that Thomas and Will aren't where we began - he said you had forgotten, we had forgotten -"

"How far back, John?" The hand that held the letter shook as Sherlock's eyes focused on John's, then closed as he took a deep breath. "How far back?"

"He said centuries, Sherlock. I told him I wanted, we wanted to know, needed to know, everything. He and Alicia will be visiting in a fortnight, if you want him to -"

Sherlock nodded. "Please tell him yes, John." He looked over at John's left hand, slowly tightening into a fist, and shook his head. "It's fine, John. Better than. I promise, no matter what - we'll do this together." He covered John's hand with his own and breathed out as he felt John's fingers uncurl. "I think we need some tea, then a nap first, hmm?"

 

"Mycroft?"

"Sherlock. John got the letter?"

"Yes. He did, we did. Thank you. I need to know, Myc, just how far back?"

"Before Richard the Second."

"Nearly seven hundred years, Myc? We - it took us -" Sherlock's voice shuddered to a halt.

"That's why I wanted to be sure you wanted to know, before I hand everything over to you. There are hundreds of documents, proof of your shared existence with John. You have the right to know, it will take time to share it all with you, it needs context -"

"You have been my brother for all this time as well?" Sherlock breathed out finally.

"Yes."

"God, Myc. I'm so sorry."

Mycroft snorted, then laughed. "That's exactly what John said, when I told him. I think he understands me a bit better, now."

"I imagine so." He paused, then looked at the sleeping form next to him. "Thank you, Myc. I know what you did to bring him back to me this time. I never asked you to, but you stopped him from leaving back when, when - after Mary - you knew, I needed him. Just him - and you hadn't stepped in before, had you?"

"No. I went with my gut this time. I believed that given time, he could forgive you, you could forgive yourself, and he would begin to remember finally. I couldn't bear to see - you have no idea what it's like, to stand by and not be able to stop - until Alicia, I didn't understand how you could go through so much pain, over and over."

"And now?"

"Now -" He watched as Alicia rolled over in her sleep and reached out for him. "One lifetime can't possibly be enough."

Sherlock whispered, "yeah. Not nearly enough, Myc. We'll see both of you in ten days. I -"

"Me too, brother, mine. Me too."

"Night, Mycroft."

"Sherlock."


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on something in a file, he wasn't even sure why he had bothered asking Anthea to bring over the work he had left on his desk two days ago now. The words were blurring together, and he saw little point in going back to the beginning, to try to regain some semblance of who he had been just forty-eight hours earlier -

"Hmmm?" He looked up to see Alicia holding a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

"Do you even know how long you've been awake?" She asked him quietly as she sat down next to him.

"Honestly - about sixteen straight hours, give or take an hour?"

"More like a full day. I know you're used to burning the candles beyond recognition, but -"

"I can't sleep, Ali - every time I close my eyes, I see him -"

"Sherlock."

"And I can't help him. It's always the moment when he knows he's lost John, either to a wife, or he's died in battle, or -" He buried his face in his hands and she took him into her arms and held onto him.

"Shhh, love. Drink your tea, eat your biscuits, then a bath, and then we will dress and go for a walk. You don't have to think about anything, we have time just to not think for a while, hmm?"

Mycroft sighed into her shoulder then looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Everything is just falling to pieces in my head, and I - I'm so used to not feeling anything, it's quite like a bit of an avalanche. Now, I have a bit of an idea why Sherlock - why he is the way he is - or was - I can't imagine..."

 

"Sherlock?" John reached out and touched his back, and felt him tense against his fingers, then take a breath and relax.

"Gertrude needs to go out, and I - I just need some air."

"Do you want company? I promise I won't talk, or breathe too hard."

Sherlock searched John's face and nodded. "Please? I - just -"

"I know, love."

"My head - it's - everything - things I've never seen before - rooms, battle scenes - you -"

John got out of bed, threw on his sweats and jumper, then walked over to Sherlock and offered him his hand. "Come, love. I'll make you a fry up when we get back home. Remember we got that nice bacon yesterday - and Gilly gave us those fresh eggs when we went to get the mail - I'm -"

"No." Sherlock took John's hand in his and shook his head. "Don't be sorry - I should have known, I should have asked. Things have always felt incomplete in my head, like I've been missing - I don't know what, precisely - but, don't apologise for wanting to know, John. I want to know, need to know - everything about you, about us." Sherlock kissed John's fingers and helped him to his feet. "I - love you, so very much, John."

John pulled Sherlock into his arms and waited until he felt him rest his head on his shoulder, and blow out a shuddering breath. "I'm here, love, I'm here." Sherlock nodded against him, then straightened up and whistled for Gertrude, who was waiting patiently by their door, then grabbed onto John's hand tightly and pulled him down the stairs, through the kitchen and into -

"Snow?" John laughed as he looked up at the grey sky. "A bit early yet, isn't it?" He blinked away the tiny snowflakes that were already beginning to collect on his eyelashes and saw Sherlock looking at him in awe. "What?"

"You're just so - beautiful, John, and I'm still in shock sometimes, that you really - that you love me, and that we are together here, and no one can stop me from loving you."

John smiled at him, then ruffled the dark curls, as the snow was already beginning to turn them white, and pulled him down into a soft, all encompassing kiss that told Sherlock more than any novel could tell him in thousands of words. They watched in silence as Gertrude chased after the snowflakes, then turned her attention to the squirrels who were caught off guard by the sudden change in weather.

Sherlock threaded their fingers together and closed his eyes as John leaned into him. "Forever, Sherlock. Forever and always."


	6. Chapter 6

Alicia walked into the bathroom and let her robe fall to the floor, smiling slightly as Mycroft sighed appreciatively from the depths of the deep claw tub. "Scootch."

He scootched forward and let out a slight moan as she slid into the tub behind him, and pulled him tightly against her as she settled into the perfectly scented water. "Now. No thinking."

"Not thinking a single, solitary thing."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as she washed his back carefully, then ran her fingers through his hair and cleared her throat. "Never once?"

"Hmmm?"

"In all that time - you never -"

He shook his head and whispered, "never. You are the first, my only -" He kissed her fingers and she leaned against his back.

"Over six hundred years - and you choose me."

"What?"

"It's just -"

"What happened to not thinking, hmm?"

"Right, sorry." She silently began washing his shoulders and he closed his eyes again.

"There was never anyone whose intelligence could match my own, until you - I needed someone who could make me stop thinking about things that should be felt - but I never found anyone, there were many in Henry the Eighth's reign, who were beautiful, and of good family, but they were always jockeying for the king's attention, and one could never be too careful then, as his patience with the then wife could snap at a moment's notice. I felt fortunate that I wasn't concerned with needing to make a good match then, our family had somehow emerged from the War of the Roses unscathed, we had spent most of those years in France, returning when Henry the Seventh came to power, my father had his ear, and -"

"Myc?"

He shook his head. "No more..." He sighed deeply as her hands began washing his chest, her long fingers lightly brushing his nipples. shutting down any notions of thought, as he shivered in her arms.

"Water getting cold?"

"Hmm... no..." He groaned as her fingers suddenly moved lower down his torso, finding those places only she knew. No one else had ever - "Dammmmmn, Ali..."

"Let me, love, just let go, Myc. I'm here. I'm here, love."

"Ali -" He closed his eyes and let the sensations wash over him, her soft lips and voice at his ear, coaxing him away from his old memories that were coming to the surface, and settling him very much in the present moment, her fingers were now gently bringing him closer to - "God...how - mmmmmmmmm..." 

As tears ran down his face, uncontrollably, Alicia tightened her strong arms around him, and murmured softly, yet urgently, making sure he could hear her. "I love you, Myc. You are so strong, love; I know you don't think much of your own heart, but I know, I know how big it is, love. You couldn't empathise with your brother as you do, if you weren't capable of great love. You are, I know it, from how you love me and how you have protected your brother for so long. Cared for him, mourned him, time and time again; he is loved, so very greatly loved, as are you, so very loved, my heart."

Once he could find his own voice, he turned and whispered into her chest. "Please, can we just go to bed, Ali? I'm so tired, love."

"Yes, Myc, of course."

 

Sherlock laid his fork onto his plate and met John's thoughtful gaze, with one of his own. "Did you have any plans today?"

John shook his head. "Nothing on the books, that I am aware of -"

"Will you come to bed with me - just, I just need to sleep, I need you, John. I just need to feel you wrapped around me - I need to know -"

"Of course." John reached out with both hands and grabbed onto Sherlock's trembling fingers, holding them until Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a shattered breath. John stood and brought Sherlock to his feet gently. "I'm here, love. I'm not going to let you go, Sherlock, not ever again. You are quite irrevocably stuck with me."

"For better or for worse, hmmm?" Sherlock snorted and managed to smile at the man who stood before him, his dark blue eyes shining up at him, in love, such love, he had to turn away, only to have John touch his face gently and bring him into a kiss.

"And for everything in between." He leaned into Sherlock's chest and felt him shiver. "Come on, love, time for bed."


End file.
